


Say No To This

by SmutWithPlot



Series: #McHamilton [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Adultery, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Jesse is bi, M/M, RAGE COMMENT ON A CHEATING FIC ON MORE TIME, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: I hadn't slept in a week, I was weak, I was awake.  You've never seen a displaced cowboy more in need of a break. Longing for Hanzo, missing my wife... That's when Rinoa Sojiro walked into my life. // You know what it is, don't act surprised. A desperate and strung out McCree is taken advantage of, and he doesn't stop it from happening.





	1. I Was Weak, I Was Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Every single time I write a cheating fic, y'all get all up in arms. WELL, BITCHES, I'M READY FOR YOU. I got me a fresh bag of marshmallows and graham crackers and chocolate, let's do s'mores, mother fucker. Even if y'all behave for once, I'll still have chocolate and marshmallows for cocoa. I ain't even mad.
> 
> Also: given that I tweaked this for bi!Jesse and McHanzo, I made Maria a guy to further piss off Hanzo when the time comes. And I have a weird thing that Jesse likes purple (even if it looks terrible on /him/) just as much as Hanzo likes pink. I don't know why that's a thing, but it's a thing.
> 
> Songs:  
> "My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, & I Don't Love Jesus" by Jimmy Buffett  
> "Suddenly I See" by KT Tunstall  
> "Black-Eyed Dog" by Nick Drake

I hadn't slept in a week.

It's dangerous to get addictions. When things are good and the money is flowing, you don't think twice about another drink, another smoke, going out instead of staying in. I was raised poor. Addictions were a liability, hard to keep up with. It's what kept me from wasting myself on crack or meth or heroin when I was younger, sticking to the cheap and plentiful booze my dad brought home, smokes you could lift from a shop with respects for Deadlock, or bum one off a friend. Almost anyone smoked, it was an easy habit to keep up. When I was feeling fancy, I could stop at the smoke shop for a cigar, or maybe a cigarillo like Eastwood favored, really up the cowboy ante. When I wasn't, I could be content with whatever I was given, though Camel filters had the nice blend of flavor and kick. I could smoke a pack of Marlboro reds when things were bad, they had more of a bite. Like tequila when whiskey didn't do it quite like you wanted.

I hadn't considered the addiction of sharing a bed with a wife before.

In the old days, having someone in bed with me was a rare treat. It meant I got lucky, maybe we both got a little hair of the dog with breakfast nooky, I'd spoil the lady by making a mean breakfast and let my reputation take off on its own. Even in gay circles, I had groomed an expectation of a rough fuck that left bruises and bites in secret places, wandering hands in hot showers, and meat and potatoes to replenish and go again. In Japan, it was different. I didn't do any of the cooking. The hangovers had almost vanished as I drank more sake and less whiskey, and the weed I was smoking here was smoother, subtler.

Still kept you wired, though. Wired through 2, 3, and 4a hours as I poured through the accounts, running them over and over and over in my head until I could read them back to you verbatim from memory. Nights became dawns. Dawns became breakfasts in my study, and then lunch and dinner. I ate absently, the food magickally appearing and catching my attention by scent. I ate and worked, and just before I could become aware of hunger, it arrived again.

I had hit something like 65 hours and change when I was rubbing my eyes and blinked furiously, feeling them burn, my body begging me to rest, and yet, when I checked my watch, it was barely 2p. I called to the help. I asked them what day it was, and he told me. I balked, demanding why they hadn't sent me to bed, and he shrugged.  
This wasn't America. I didn't have someone's mother or sister or wife to goad me into eating my meals and scuttling to bed. Suzume wasn't here to tug on my sleeve and insist I join the family for dinner. There were no letters from Hanzo to look forward to in the mornings. Without them, my touch on reality had been lost. I was just an overworked fool who was neglecting himself for his work.

I went to bed. Even with the shutters shut, my body knew it was daylight. Even though I was exhausted, and I closed my eyes, I could hear all the noise of the kitchens, the gardeners chattering outside... Noises I shouldn't hear in my office, noises they only did there when I was supposed to be awake and elsewhere in the world. I was the one in the wrong place at the wrong time. I sighed, hand over my eyes, and the puzzles and problems and issues kept rolling in my head...

I dozed, but a smack of gravel or a shout or even a bird call would wake me. I finally groaned, miserable, and looked at the clock... Two hours in total. I sighed. _This is useless_.

I went back to my office and ordered coffee instead. I told myself I would work until the night, and sleep when it was dark. 5p came and went, and then 6. I watched 730 crawl by, and started the whole fucking mess over. I felt like I was at the brink of something when I heard noise I didn't readily recognise...

...Like a cacophony of buzzing, chirping little voices. Horror dawned on me as I moved to a window, peeping out at the light blue of dawn.

"God damn it!" I checked my watch, and it was already past 5.

...For fuck's sake. I sighed, crawling to bed... It was useless.

The sheets were cold. I could imagine Suzume smiling at me, pretty pink and yellow flowers on her silk gown, or maybe soft white cotton, her hair spilling on the sheets, those almond eyes watching me with her coy smile...

...Or maybe Hanzo. Lying on his back, trying not to look at me, a hand over his brow, even as he peeks at me sideways, that coy, satisfied smirk on his lips. _Don't look at me like that, cowboy,_ he might say. But the blush told me he enjoyed it. Part of him thrilled at our forbidden trysts, I knew that much.

I tried touching myself, but I couldn't decide on either of them. Especially not when names and numbers creeped in and confused everything, the bright light of day watching me with disapproval, and I gave up on that, too.

 _I am hopeless,_ I thought. _This time. 10p. For sure._

I told the help to give me chamomile with dinner. And alert me when 10p arrived. They did, and I sipped it, but when they showed up to warn me the time, I barked at them, an almost idea snatching at the edge of my mind...

...I chased it until 230a. And realized it wouldn't work.

" _Damn_  it." I pulled at my hair, growling.

I was strung out. It had been days of this. I was exhausted. Desperate...

 _Take a break!_  Suzume urged me, hands reaching for my shoulders. _You work yourself to death, Anata. It will do no one any good if you die trying to find a solution._

 _I need to figure this out_ , I told her. _I need to..._

I could imagine even Hanzo, standing behind her. _She is right, you know. This is not healthy._

 _Go on without me_. And then I lied, _I'll join you later._

Hanzo did not believe me, knowing me better than that, but he encouraged his sister to accept the lie. I wondered if they were having drinks after dinner and clucking, worried about me. Sure I was working myself to death. Maybe Suzume would get spiteful, say it was my own doing, and that if I was smart, I would pack up and join them.  
It was awfully tempting.

I went to bed, to no avail. The sheets were a mess with my tossing and turning, every nagging thought pricking at me, sharp pains like the bites of a spectre bug I couldn't find and squash.

 _Curse your pride_ , I could hear him mocking me.

 _Come away with us_ , my wife begged me.

 _Papa! Come on! It'll be wonderful!_   Even Aaron, tugging on my fingers, tugging at my heart, my pride and joy, dancing and jumping for excitement. He had his mother's almond eyes, but my wild hair and reckless spirit.

Hanzo waits, watching me. His eyes beg silently. A longing and dark fire is there. I know this will be a chance to rekindle what we have, more than the flowery prose and suggestion that keeps us both awake at night. A chance to touch each other again, a chance for him to have what he can't anywhere else. I relish the thought...

And yet I stayed.

I dress for the day. I'm sure I look a wreck, bloodshot and exhausted. But I dress anyway. I imagine with the shower I am presentable enough that maybe no one else realizes.

My smile can cover a multitude of sins.

I walk through the garden, hoping the beauty can ease my spirit. Instead, I think of Suzume, sitting beside me, fingers clasped in mine, hand on my shoulder as we watch the children play. I think of Hanzo, grinning that stupid, goofy smile that I swear only I ever get to see, posing for a ridiculous picture under the sakura that he swears he will kill me for if anyone sees it. It makes me miss them more.

I go out into town, gun at my hip. And I wonder if I'll hit a shooting range. I arrange for a range set up, and they give me the place to myself - Shimada royalty as I am, now. I almost wish they'd let me shoot with normal folk, so I would have someone to talk to. That's when I realize that it's a person I'm missing.

I've become addicted to them. To my family. I miss Suzume in my bed, I miss Hanzo in my mind, I miss the children in my periphery, morning mail and evening supper and the little rituals that gave my life structure. Left to my own devices, I slip into a nothingness, defined by my work, a work I am presently failing at. Without my family to distract me and keep me on point, I disappear into a whirlpool of despair and desperation.

_I should have gone._

I catch a movie, but I don't remember any of it, my mind whirling on my problem. I debate over dinner if I should just give up and go with them back to Hanamura, but the logic and reasons as to why I stayed in the first place are stubborn and unyielding. I work into the night, and when 3a shows up, I try again to sleep. Fruitlessly. I give myself a cold shower and weep, my body in pain.

 _I should have gone_.

I tried an arcade, but my tired mind can't put the puzzles in the right places. I wander an art gallery, and stare at a painting for a half hour without seeing it. I went to a kareoke bar, and all I heard was noise and drunkenness. How lovely, to be so easily amused. To be able to set aside your cares for the evening. I eye a small group to one side, a double date, a group of friends. I realise my stomach is not turning from too much beer and not enough food, but out of jealousy, watching lingering hands and heartfelt loves and lips pressed to ears for secret jokes and heart-felt laughter.

_I need human contact._

Another sleepless night. This time, I tell myself I'm going to go sparring. I need someone to talk to, to touch? I'll find someone who _has_  to touch me, despite my status. Maybe it'll cure this itch. It's not Hanzo (God, I wish it was) but it'll be something.

The Dojo master greets me with honors and polite gratitude, even as he eyes me sideways and watches the gun I hang on the wall. I trade into comfier clothes, work out tee and pants. There are a few who test me, try me... One of them is a young man, maybe early 20s, with a slim and tense build, and a stripe of purple in his hair that catches my eye. I always liked purple. He is honored by my favor, and he puts up a good fight. We chat over lunch -- one of my servants has fetched us bentos from a nearby sushi bar -- and he is grateful. We spar well into the afternoon, and when they are closing shop, he offers to keep sparring.

On the condition that I give him a ride home, that is. An easily agreed to condition.

We spar into the evening, both of us covered in bruises and the blissful pain of a good work out, skin glistening. We break into the showers, and I can't help but admire how beautiful he is... Lean and slick, the water hugging his curves in a way my hands and lip desire to follow...

Nothing harmful in looking, right?

I think he even sees me, and he blushes, and I smirk to myself. I think of Hanzo, wishing he were here... But I dress, slacks and suit jacket, dressing myself up like a proper gentleman, feeding the lie. When I step out, he's wearing the same shirt, sweat stained and sticking to his skin, but with jeans and an overshirt over it. It's red with a black dragon on it. I like it.

"Where abouts did you say you lived?" I asked.

He tells me, and it's just around the corner. I scoffed. "Ride? You could walk that way." A short walk, at that. I walked less at the gallery.

"Yeah... But is not the safest end of town," he said. There is a gleam to his eye, and I am sure my eye lingered long enough for him to be smug. But at least he is enjoying the attention. He is not offended by it.

"Shoot. Yer walkin' with Jesse McCree, son," I tell him, tucking a hand to my hip, sweeping back the jacket to reveal the gun I know I'm still known for. "I'll keep ya safe."

I tell myself his eye is on my gun... not my _gun_. He nods. "Alright."

I tell my driver we're going to walk, and he can follow us. He doesn't question me, but shadows us as we start off, wishing good nights to the dojo master.

"What was your name again, son?"

He gave me a shy smile. "Jo."

"Jesse," I tell him, offering a hand. He takes it. "Gotta say, you were my savin' grace today."

He laughed, polite. "Why do you say that?"

"I been goin' stir crazy for a week," I tell him. I don't know why. "Wife and kids are up in Hanamura with her brother and father. I was supposed to go, but..." He shrugged. "Work. Gotta get work done. Startin' to mess with me."

"That explains the fighting," he says, his English a little off, but passable. "You hit like you are trying to get the Devil out of you."

I chuckle. "Somethin' like that." I look at him sideways, and there is a heat to his eyes. I tell myself I'm imagining it even as it sends a shiver down my spine. "You come here a lot? To that dojo, I mean?"

He shrugged. "Now and again." He elbowed me. "I get stir crazy, too."

Definitely a need for human contact. I elbow him back. "Got somethin' in common, then."

Just being so close to another human body is like a fix. Like that first long drag of a cigarette when you've been itchin' for a smoke all day. That pre-game shot to take the edge off and let the party begin. I clap a hand on his shoulder and I squeeze, and I swear he leans into it. God, it feels good.

He ducks into a side alley, and I wave to my driver to wait. I follow him in, a line of doors, shitty tenements that remind me of home in a painful way.

That knight in shining armor in me wants to scoop him away from this place and stick him in my garden where he won't hunger ever again.

He pulls out his keys and unlocks the door, scooting out of his shoes as he does, setting them by the door.

"Would you like to come in? I can make you tea," he offers.

I look back down the alleyway, where my car is. Knowing the mountain of paperwork waiting for me, the dead ends and restless nights and cold showers...

"Sure. I could use it." I take off my shoes and set them by his.

The place is tiny. His whole apartment could fit in my dining room. There's a kitchenette he is fiddling in, and he puts on a kettle, a sweet smile on his face. He looks delicious, eager to please, helpful. _I could eat him up_ , the ravenous wolf in me thinks, but I remind him that we're married now and we don't do such things.

 _Except with Hanzo_ , he answers.

_Well, yeah. Except with Hanzo. But he's part of that marriage in his own way._

He points into the hall. "There is sitting room next. Sit. I bring tea."

I nod, and take off my hat, stepping in. It's a bachelor pad, to be sure. Secondhand couch, threadbare handmade blanket tossed over the back. A guitar tucked in the corner without a stand.

"You, ah... You play?"

"Hmm?"

"Just, ah..." I laughed at myself. "I saw the guitar."

"Oh! Oh, I try. I am not very good, haha. Don't ask me to play."

"No, that's fine. Least yer tryin'," I say. "Mind if I...?"

He laughs. "Feel free!" He is rattling china, and I step to the guitar.

It's dusty, he hasn't used it in a while. I blow on it, brushing away the dust. Feeling the wound strings under my fingers brings back memories. I sink into the couch, propping it up on my knee. I strum... it's mostly in tune. I fix the G, and it rings like a bell. I pick at the strings, a couple arpeggios and scales to get back into the swing of things. It's painful on my fingers -- I realize I've become a rich man who doesn't have callouses anymore. I regret it. And then I begin to pick a song. Something jaunty and fun. I know usually it has a piano to go with it, but...

"My head hurts. My feet stink and I don't love Jesus..." I sang. "That kinda mornin'. Really was that kinda night..." I watched him peek his head around the corner and I grin, singing a little louder for him. "Try to tell myself that my condition is improvin' and if I don't die by Thursday I'll be roarin' Friday night."

"What on earth are you singing?" he asked me, the prettiest smile on his lips.

I laughed. "Old Jimmy Buffett song." I kept strummin'. "Gotta get a little orange juice. And a Darvon for mah hed. I can't spend-a all day... Baby, layin' in the bed..." Why did I pick this song? "I'm goin' down to Fausto's, get some chocolate milk, can't spend my life in your sheets of silk, I've gotta find my way... Crawl out and greet the day..." I strummed, playfully, holding the note and he laughed. "But now my head hurts," I added, tilting my head to one side, "And my feet stink," and to the other, "And I don't love Jesus," I finished, shaking it. He laughed. "That kinda mornin'. Really was that kinda night..." He leaned in the doorway, smiling, enjoying the silliness, and damn it, I enjoyed entertaining someone. "Try to tell myself that my condition is improvin' and if I don't die by Thursday I'll be roarin' Friday night. I said, I'll be roarin' Friday night. I tell ya! Be rooooarin' Friiiiday niiiiight... Da-doom-doom-doom-doom, doom-da-doo-doom." Another flourish.

He laughed, and applauded. I tipped the hat I wasn't wearin'. "A-thank-ya."

"Mr. McCree, you have a beautiful voice."

... _Mr. McCree_. Now, it's been a long time since someone called me that. The wolf perked his ears, and I tore my eyes away from him, toying at the strings. "Thank ya." Another strum, and I debated another song. I picked one. "Well, her face is a map of the world, is a map of the world..." I crooned. "You can see she's a beautiful girl, she's a beautiful girl... And everythin' around her is a silver pool of light. And people who surround her feel the benefit of it, it makes you count... She holds you captivated in her path..."

_Why did I pick that one?_

I hold off. Leaving the note ringing.

"Suddenly I See," he says. "I know that one."

I give him a tight smile. _Why did heaven mean so much to me?_  "Yeah." I strum, trying to find something else. I strummed out the opening of "Black Eyed Dog". I tried to think of my fingers sliding over the strings, and not of the fondness in his voice.

My heart twists. I feel a bad omen. "A black eyed dog, he called at my door... A black eyed dog, he called for more... A black eyed dog, he knew my name... A black eyed dog, he knew my name... A black eyed dog..." My voice cracks a little at the long note, and I cough to correct myself as he slips back into the kitchen. "Growin' old and I wanna go home... Growin' old and I don't wanna know. Growin' old and I wanna go home..." I caught the strings as he came out, a humble tray with a tea pot and two cups. I set the guitar aside, and he sits beside me.

He sits _right_  beside me.

"I think maybe this tea will not be enough," he teases. "I'm sure you charge extra for the singing."

I give a sound that ought to be a laugh, though it comes out half-formed. "No, that's all me. I just like playin' guitar. Haven't done it in years..."

He nodded... And yes, there's that darkness in his eyes. I shouldn't have started singing. That was a bad idea. I swallow hard, and look to the tea. He serves us each a cup. _Just one and I'll leave_ , I tell myself.

He raises his for a toast, absurd as that is. "To... Stir crazy," he said.

"Heh. Sure. To stir crazy." But I tap porcelain to porcelain. "Kanpai."

He gives a little bubbly laugh that claws at me, and I focus on my tea.

 _Focus on the details_ , Hanzo's voice says in my ear. _The wind in the trees. The sway in the grass. The fabric of the cloth you wear._

_Your hand on my hip?_

A smirk. _Exactly._

I inhale. Feel the warmth of it bleeding into my hands. The stew of the leaves, the color of the green, the etching of the edge of the cup...

...The hand on my knee.

"I really like your singing," he whispered. And I can feel his breath on my ear. It makes me shiver.

"I-I'm sorry," I said, strained. "I probably shouldn't've--"

"I don't mind..." His hand slides higher. "I understand. You have a wife, but... You have other desires. It is not uncommon."

My fingers are clawing at the cup, and I'm breathing through my nose. _This is wrong_.

Everything screams at me set it down, thank him kindly, grab my hat and walk right out the door.

Right now. Just get up and go.

Just... GO.

_Go go go!_

_...I should have gone to Hanamura._

I gasp as that hand touches somewhere else. "Oh... Lord."

He chuckles, a dark thing in my ear. I can't move as he sets his own cup down. "I can feel it... You do want me..." The wetness of him licking his lips and I squeeze my eyes shut. His fingers stroke and I let out a soft whimper. "I can help you feel better."

 _I need human contact_. My breath is a thin and ragged, and damn it, I haven't slept in a week, and my body melts. My hands fall, and one of his snatches at my tea, and it meets the table. Next thing I know, he's in my lap, straddling me, eyes black, that stripe of purple calling out to me as his hand strokes me...

_Lord, help me. I can't do this._

I let out another miserable whimper as his lips touch my neck, and then my hands are on his hips, and he is so _hot_  and tight. His body was rinsed, but the smell of our sparring is still on his shirt.

"Jo, please..."

He nips at my skin. "Of course, sir. Anything you like..." And he licks at my ear and I moan.

 _That's not what I meant_ , I think, but I hiss. The wolf claws at his flesh, hungry, _starving_...

 _I should have gone_ , I thought again.

 _Yes, and then this would be Hanzo_ , the wolf answered me. _But you didn't. This will do._

His hands are at my belt buckle, and I want to stop him, but I also don't. I miss the days of my outrageous BAMF buckle, the clang it made -- this one is slick and sleek and opens easier. The slacks, too, don't have the same crinkle and whirr of denim, but oh _god_  when he is inside, and he can wrap his fingers around me...

"Oh... You weren't kidding," he whispers in my ear. "Poor Mr. McCree... When was the last time someone touched you?"

 _Too long_ , the wolf answers. But as it steps up to bat, my head moves to his ear.

"You keep calling me that, boy, and you're gonna be in trouble," I warn him.

"What? Mr. McCree?" He is goading me. I growl, and this time I bite _him_. He squeaks, not expecting it, and I am less kind about not leaving marks.

He lets out a whimper. "Oh, sir, please..."

I hiss! Why does he have to say those things?! "Don't you know I'm married?" I snarl.

"Yes, I do, sir," he whispers, voice low awed. "That makes it more exciting..."

And he is inside my boxes now and I buck into his hands with a whimper.

"Damn you," I hiss.

"If that's how you really felt," he teased, tugging at my earlobe with his teeth. "You would have stopped me earlier."

I swallow hard. He's right... "I should stop you now."

"You really should," he agreed.

But when he pulls at me again, my claws dig into his back with greedy hunger.

He moans. "Yes, sir... Please. I like the pain."

 _Oh, you're wonderful_ , the wolf growls.

 _I'm doomed_ , I think.


	2. Even Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say that was the last time. I said that last time, but it became a past time... // The other shoe drops, and the breakfast letters arrive with a side of blackmail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps, yes, I'm bull-shitting names. If they're weird, blame the difficulty of Japanese-ifying British names. (What is the Japanese equivalent of Anglicized? No Nihongo? I have no idea.)

Jo is a wicked little fuck.

It turns out 'Jo' is short for Sojiro, which make me squirm ("We'll keep it to Jo, shall we?"), and he's a college student currently off for summer semester for work. Not that he's finding much work, so I give him something much more fun to do with his time.

After the first time (where rough manhandling ended with him giving me a very enthusiastic blow job that left me loose enough to actually sleep for the first time in a week), I'd found myself dreaming of him. I was happy to sleep enough to dream, and wanted to repay the kindness. I invited him to lunch, which turned into a walk in the garden, which involved his hands going places they shouldn't be, until I had him pinned on a wall. He was all messy ambition, greedy for attention, especially attention that would get him in trouble. He seemed to know when none of the guards and help weren't looking, or maybe they pretended they didn't see. I took him to bed and fucked the shit out of him, and it was exhilarating, forbidden, wicked, and _god_  it felt so good.

I tried to go a day without him, and finally relented, sending a car to fetch him after dinner. I tried the pretense of a movie, but the only cowboy I was worried about was the one riding me, and oh god was he _beautiful_.

The next time he showed up, he brought two changes of clothes ("Although I don't think I'll need them..." he teased with a lascivious wink, tongue toying with a lollipop he'd been sucking on since he arrived, driving me crazy) and insisted I take him out dancing. I obliged him, and he would grind on me, then go flirt with someone else until I ordered him a drink and beckoned him back with a crooked finger. When we got home in the wee hours of the morning, I tied him up and beat him for his disrespect, and he swore very fervently he wouldn't do it again.

I didn't believe him for a second.

We went to the boardwalk, and he insisted I win him plushies, wasting too much money on a ridiculously rigged water gun game. We ate candied apples and candy floss and barbecue for dinner before we snuck under the boardwalk to fuck on the beach.

 _God_ , I hadn't had so much fun in so long.

Saturdays and Sundays he had to go to his grandmother's to help her run her shop -- an antiques shop in another end of town that he insisted was more dust than anything. When I teased dropping by to harass him like he harassed me, he seemed too happy with the idea.

"I just warn you. We break anything, she will charge you for it."

"Not you?"

"Ha! She knows I can't afford it." Another wink.

 _God_ , I loved it.

It was a Sunday morning when the letter came. I frowned at it, since the nigh-weekly letter from my family had come on Thursday, and wouldn't be arriving so soon. Even Hanzo was too distracted by his sister and niece and nephews to send me steamy letters. But this one... Had a name I did not recognize.

 _Rinoa Jima_. I frowned. Who the hell was this?

I slipped it open, and it started simply enough, _Dear sir, I hope this letter finds you good health and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me, down on their luck._

_You see, that was my grandson you've decided to fuck._

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. I looked up at the help, none of whom seemed to be paying any particular attention to their Master's morning. I swallowed hard, the taste of bile not disappearing.

 _She knows I can't afford it_.

Yes, but I can.

_A man in your position ought to behave better. Who knows what they will say if they find out the daughter of Shimada married a man who favors boys in her absence? But hey, you can keep seeing my whore grandson if the price is right. If not, I am telling your wife about your repeated indiscretions. I have at least a month of visitations on record._

I was _furious_. This could ruin me...

I thought of Suzume, a mess of tears, screeching at me to never touch her again. And I could imagine her running to Hanzo's arms, and the twist of his lips, the sneer and snarl of loathing and hatred in his eyes...

...It made me more sick than my own rage. _I can't let her do this to my family_.

_How could -I- have done this to them?_

I hid the letter in my office, knowing no one would be like to find it in my mess, and I armed myself with my gun, my heart breaking in a million different ways.

 _You made your bed, now lie in it_ , said one.

 _Not my pet! Please, not my pet!_  said another.

_Think of Suzume..._

_Think of Hanzo._

_Think of the -family-. They will not let this disgrace stand._

_I can fix it_ , said the last. He picked me out a red shirt, so that the blood would not show.

I drove to his place myself, driving like a bat out of hell. It was raining, it was late, I had spent all day fighting over what to do, and I kept coming to this. _Maybe he could say something to defend himself_ , said one. _Let him hang himself_ , insisted another. _It'll make this easier for everyone_. I slammed a fist on his door, no one in his sketchy neighborhood daring to approach the well-dressed man with a gun. He answered the door, half-dressed. His skin still wore pink marks from his last visit as he tried to cover up with a shirt, blinking at me.

"McCree?"

"Get inside," I snarled, shoving him back. He stumbled back, eyes going wide, and he watched me slam the door shut.

"What--"

"How _could_  you?" I hissed. "You told her?"

He blinked at me. Maybe trying to come up with a lie, that pretty mouth hanging open, his hair a lovely mess. "N-No... Sir--"

"You _told_  her, and now she's blackmailing me!"

His jaw worked, eyes blinking. "Wh--"

"Your fucking grandmother!" I barked. "Rinoa Jima! Sound familiar?"

And his eyes went wide. "...Oh."

"Don't 'OH' me!" I snarled. "I oughta shoot you where you stand!" My hand moved to my hip, and he reached out to me.

"No no no! Please! I didn't know! I swear!"

"Or did you set this up?! Did you arrange it? Seduce me, take me to bed, then wring me out for anything you could get?!"

"No, sir!" he begged, and he started to cry, and it pulled at my heart, that part of me that had wanted to scoop him up that first day, the part of me that was a sucker for damsels in distress. "Please! I didn't know!"

He reached for me, and I pulled away. "I got the letter this morning! While you were at _work_  for her. You were working together, weren't you?" I spat.

He fell to his knees, begging me in Japanese, his hands clawing at my legs. "I-I didn't know any better!"

"I am _ruined!_  They'll kill me! Hell, they'll kill _you_  for this, do you understand that?!"

"Please, I am harmless!"

"Like hell! I oughta shoot you myself, put an end to the whole thing--"

"NO! No, please!" And his hands are on mine, tugging them down, and he is weeping. He's _pathetic_. I can see his black roots peeking of his purple stripe, and the mess of tears make him look more like a child than anything...

"Just... please." He looks up at me, his chest heaving. "Just give her what she wants. An-And you can have me. Punish me, do whatever you want--"

"I don't WANT you! Don't you get it?!" I roared. "I am ruined!"

"You can beat me, whip me, anything--"

"I don't _want_  you!" I insist again, but he's crawling up my shirt, and damn it, he looks so lost and helpless...

"Please... please..." And then he's at my lapel, and I want to wrench away from him, but then we're on the door, and he's pressed against me. "Please..."

"I c- I can't," I whisper.

"Please... Onegaishimasu," he begs me. "Don't leave me..."

And he kisses me, a messy wet thing, and I whimper, not answering it, my lips pursed.

"...Sojiro... Jo. I... I can't. I have a family..."

"I won't tell them," he insists, his hands on my face. "Sir, please..."

My stomach turns, and I swallow hard. "I..."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, and I whimper as I find myself answering it. I don't want to, I shouldn't, but... But I did.

He wraps himself around me, weeping into the shirt that I picked out in red on purpose... And I relent. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight. "Jo... We have to stop this..."

And then his lips are on my skin, pressing kisses on my neck, my jaw, my cheeks, and I sigh.

"Jo, please..."

"I-I will make it better," he insists, and this time the kiss is tender, and I melt a little more. When his tongue teases at me, my fingers tighten, and I answer back.

 _Damn it_. How am I supposed to say no to this?

"I make it better..." he whispers again, and then his hand is on me, and I melt more...

Then he's on his knees, looking up at me with tear stained cheeks, and big wet eyes and big wet lips and he takes me in his mouth, and reason leaves me.

...I can't do this.

"Jo..." I moan. "I have family..."

"I won't tell them," he promises.

A half-hearted laugh. _That's not what I meant._

He drags me to bed, calling me 'sir' and 'Mr. McCree' and even 'Master' and I can't say no to him. I take him with vigor, punishing, cruel, and he cries again, but he doesn't stop me. After, he curls up in my arms like I am his world, and I feel like mine is crashing around me as I stroke my fingers down his back.

"Jo... I can't keep doing this."

He looks up at me in the dark, and I look down at him. His answer is only a kiss, and my heart twists.

In the end we come up with a sizeable price for her silence. I have to break it into small portions, obviously, to avoid detection. She agrees, a crafty old woman with a long pipe that is probably not full of tobacco.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. McCree," she replies. It makes my stomach turn in unpleasant ways.

"And when my family returns, the whole affair ends. You keep your boy out of my life."

"Of course, Mr. McCree," she agrees, smiling like a crocodile. "Whatever you desire."

I punish him again, crushing his face in the blankets and calling him all manner of cruel names. He likes it. His last visitation is a three-day holiday at the Shimada Castle. I spend the day after he leaves trying to cry out the heartbreak I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have met him, or done that, or a number of things, and I sure as hell shouldn't be heartbroken about a boy I had an affair with I shouldn't have touched in the first place. When I look worn out and beat up the next morning, hung over as hell, Hanzo and Suzume cluck over me, my wife beckoning to the servants for food and soup, and Hanzo offering me a secret kiss and embrace. They are both certain I have been needlessly working myself to the bone, foolish man as I am, and are determined to correct the injustice I've done to myself.

I don't dare correct them.


End file.
